


demons under our beds

by dreamsleep



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsleep/pseuds/dreamsleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Joan knew, came to know, and later learned about Irene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	demons under our beds

**Author's Note:**

> fic request asked for: _joan watson/irene adler : we're sleeping underneath the bed to keep the monsters out_
> 
> This is based on my belief that Irene Adler is not dead. (She outsmarted him in the books, so it would not be difficult to assume that she outsmarted him on the tv series as well.) I tried to stick to ACD's canon as much as I could, but I was also influenced by Rachel McAdams's Irene Adler and Lara Pulver's Irene Adler.

This is what Joan knows.

She knows Irene is from New Jersey. (“ _It was the accent, really._ ”) She knows that Irene also hates New Jersey. (“ **Nothing happens in New Jersey. Well, unless you’re in Trenton. Or you’re into high rates of petty crime. Here is where it’s at, Joan. No place is quite alive like New York.** ”) Irene has traveled, mainly to get away from New Jersey. All of these are things that she picked up in the first conversation they ever had at the wine bar, mainly because that’s normally what people say when they first meet each other. (“ _I met someone once who reenacted a scene from a soap opera. It was.....interesting._ ”)

She knows that Irene’s current job started in antiques, but has since branched out. (“ **My interests lie in acquiring unique items, not just antiques, Joan. Many things fascinate me.** ”) Paris is her favorite place in the world to look for antiques, and also her favorite place to shop. Irene speaks French, at least, with the way she pronounces half of the places in Paris. 

She knows that they share an interest in opera. (“ _No one really appreciates opera anymore. Or at least, the act of going to see an opera. It’s not just a performance, it’s an experience._ ”) More precisely, she knows that before dealing with antiques, Irene used to be an opera singer. (“ **I trained in Europe. Started off in Milan and then worked my way east to Poland.** ”)

There are other things that are not so obvious.

Like the fact that Irene has been married. (“ _You fidget sometimes, centered around your left ring finger._ ”) And subsequently divorced. (“ **My first husband. He wasn’t a bad man.** ”) Several times. (“ _Wait. First?_ ”)

Or the fact that Irene never speaks about London. (“ _You’ve been there before though, haven’t you? Did something happen?_ ”) Joan knows enough about avoidance thanks to her sober companion days not to push, but she knows that bad memories normally involve people, not places. (“ **I lost a dear friend there, Joan. That’s all.** ”)

Or that sometimes, Irene is afraid. Joan is always careful, has learned from Sherlock to see the details in everything. So when she pretends to look away, she sees Irene’s face change, sees her glance toward the exits and entrances, looks at every person who enters the bar where they meet. (“ _Are you expecting someone, Irene?_ ” “ **I always am, Joan.** ”)

But there is so much that Joan doesn’t know.

Like the sight of Irene, standing in the doorway of the Brooklyn townhouse she shares with Sherlock, with Sherlock in between them. Sherlock, who looks like he has seen a ghost, watched a resurrection, has been proven wrong. And Irene, who looks sad, resigned, unsurprised as she says just two words.

“Hello, Sherlock.”

The glass in Joan’s hand slips, shattering on the hardwood floor.


End file.
